


Maybe I Could Be Some Kind of Shelter

by gilligankane



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-13
Updated: 2009-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:39:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He said that you were only being nice to me because you wanted something,” Rachel says in a rush, taking a deep breath at the end of her sentence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe I Could Be Some Kind of Shelter

The friendship is tentative.

She’s still Quinn Fabray, after all, and she’s still pregnant with her ex-boyfriend’s best friend’s baby and Rachel Berry is still insufferable and still chases after Finn, taking anything he’ll give her, so they don’t just wake up one morning and decide  _“yes, I think we’ll be best friends today”_  or anything.

If anything, Quinn wakes up one morning and looks at her reflection in the mirror and says  _“I think I’ll try to be a better person today”_  which is as good of a start as she’s ever going to get.

The friendship is tentative because Quinn can’t find a way – or the words – to apologize for the last couple of years of torture inflicted on Rachel, and because Rachel is constantly on edge, waiting for the other shoe to inevitably drop, like this thing between them is a balloon – and Quinn understands the irony there; can’t help but think about the balloon pressed between her stomach and Finn’s belt buckle and how it just popped, like they did in the end – and Rachel is waiting for someone to come along with a pin and say  _“gotcha!”_  real loud as the balloon explodes.

They tiptoe around each other and Quinn doesn’t think she’ll last long like this though.

She was never a dancer; never had the balance.

\---

“Mr. Schuester really wants me to do this?” Quinn asks tentatively, holding the papers by the tips of her fingers, as if they’re a disease she doesn’t want to catch.

Rachel nods enthusiastically. “It’s really not as hard as it looks,” she says reassuringly. “I could help you with it, if you wanted.”

Old Quinn would have snapped –  _“As if, RuPaul”_  – but New Quinn thinks before she answers, swallows before she opens her mouth, and ends up smiling somewhat honestly. “That’d be nice.”

“Sure,” Rachel says brightly, giving Quinn a wide smile that, weeks ago, grated on the ex-cheerleaders last nerve, and now, only makes her grimace.

Quinn watches Rachel turn and practically skip down the hallway and waits for the flash of hatred that usually comes, but when it’s only a mere flicker, dying as quickly as it comes, she just thinks that maybe she’s stressed out and she’ll be back up to par when her life stops upending.

\---

“I think if you try shortening the first note, it won’t sound like a car wreck,” Rachel offers, spinning idly on the stool by the piano.

Quinn glares. “A car wreck?”

Rachel shrugs her shoulders. “You’re rushing your notes together. I’m tired and I can’t think of a better analogy,” she says bluntly.

Quinn’s noticed that, actually. Rachel isn’t just ‘tired’ today; she’s been ‘tired’ all week and the strain is starting to show in Glee – in the dances and this afternoon, Rachel completely missed her entrance cue.

“Well,” Quinn says cautiously, “if you wanted to talk,” she trails off, not sure what else to say.

It’s not like she talks regularly with Santana or Brittany about anything that  _matters_. She never really talked  _to_  Finn, just talked  _down_  to him most of the time. If she wants to be honest, she’s spent the most time talking about this baby thing – about the only thing that consumes her every moment – with Mrs. Schuester, and that’s not saying much, because  _it turns out_ , Quinn thinks bitterly,  _that she’s completely hysterical_.

Rachel almost looks like she’s going snap back, but ends up shaking her head at the same as she nods. “I’ll keep it in mind,” she says in a way that Quinn understands to mean  _“I’m going to forget this conversation in the next five minutes.”_

Quinn doesn’t really care.

She put the offer out there.

\---

They run into each other in the bathroom, almost literally. Quinn swings open the stall door, wiping at her mouth and Rachel is standing by the window, almost with her head pressed against the glass.

“You scared me,” Quinn says, clutching at where she thinks her heart is. It’s beating too wildly – the sudden shock of seeing someone unexpectedly – for her to find it, so she ends up with her hand pressed against her cross.

“My Dad’s are fighting,” Rachel says, rubbing her sleeve against her eyes. “I can’t figure out why, because they refuse to bring it up, or acknowledge it when  _I_  bring it up, but they are, and I’m losing sleep over it.”

Quinn nods slowly. “Fighting is hard.”

Rachel shrugs her shoulders and bites her bottom lip, turning her head so that her ear is pressed against the window and gives Quinn a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s just, you asked.”

“I did.”

“Well, that’s the reason.”

Rachel lifts her head off the window pane and Quinn holds back the urge to reach forward and brush away the tear lingering on Rachel’s cheek.

She chalks it up to a moment of vulnerability and leaves the bathroom first, deciding that she’ll give Rachel some dignity, at least.

\---

She passes Rachel a note in Spanish, which is easy because Mr. Schuester is too busy trying to get Brittany to understand that just because she draws sombreros on her test doesn’t mean she passes the quizzes, and wishes, instantly, that she could lean forward again and take it back.

“I hope things are better,” is all it says, but she feels stupid when Rachel opens it.

Rachel’s body stills and she looks at Quinn curiously over her shoulder, but Quinn gives her a sort of half-shoulder shrug, like she’s trying to say she doesn’t understand it either, but they should just go with it.

Rachel gives her a smile looks down at the note, then back at Quinn again, her smile a little wider and Quinn can’t stop herself from smiling too.

\---

“I don’t know what you’re doing,” Finn says, sidling up the locker. “But don’t do it.”

She rolls her eyes and looks up at him like he’s an idiot, which isn’t too far from the truth. “Finn, get over yourself.”

“I mean it,” he warns. “Leave Rachel out of your sick and twisted plans.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You, being friendly with Rachel. Don’t mess with her.”

“I could care less about her,” Quinn says hotly, wondering why she regrets the words as soon as she says them, but is too focused on Finn to really dwell on it. “And really, Finn, you’re acting like a teenage girl. It’s unattractive, and  _you’re_  the one who’s going to end up messing with Rachel if you keep up this act.”

Finn sputters. “Excuse me?”

“You really,” she says lowly,” don’t want me to repeat myself.”

She closes her locker daintily and tucks her Spanish book under her arm, turning on her heel and gliding down the hallway.

“Hi,” Rachel says softly, walking by Quinn in the middle of the hallway.

Quinn lifts her hand in a half-wave and smiles lightly and spends all of Western Civ. thinking about why she lied to Finn about not caring.

\---

“I think the black looks better,” Quinn says from the back of the room, fiddling with the straps of her backpack.

Rachel stops thumbing through the dresses on the rack and looks around, as if she isn’t sure who Quinn is talking to, but it has to be her because she’s the only one here.

“Not the blue?”

Quinn shakes her head and puts down her bag. “Leave the blue one for Brittany,” she suggests. “It matches her eyes better. But the black,” she trails off, because she’s remembering Sectionals and how Rachel looked in her dress and there’s an odd flutter in her stomach. “The black looks good on you.”

“You really think so?”

Quinn snorts. “Of course I do.”

\---

With Brittany fawning over her beach-ball sized stomach, Quinn tries not to think about how uncomfortable it makes her and instead, focuses on Rachel and Finn trying to work on a tricky move that the big oaf couldn’t get down.

“Left, right, left, left,” Rachel commands, sighing when Finn ends up looking like he’s marching.

“Finn-”

Finn sighs. “I know, Rachel.” He looks at his watch and groans. “Now I’m late.”

Rachel looks panicked. “You can still give me a ride home, can’t you?”

He shakes his head, looking around the room and spotting Quinn. “Have  _her_  drive you home.”

Now Rachel looks terrified. “But Finn-”

“I’ve got to meet my mom, Rachel. I’m sorry,” and he’s gone.

Rachel bites her lip and gathers her sheet music into a pile, placing it neatly into her bag and sliding her coat on. Quinn bats away Brittany’s hand, ignoring Santana’s enraged  _“hey!”_  and lifts out of her chair, awkwardly.

“Where are you going?”

Rachel glances at the clock on the wall. “I can still catch the bus.”

“I can drive you home.”

“Thank you, Quinn, but-”

Quinn plants her hand on her hip. “It’s freezing out there.”

“I have the proper winter attire,” Rachel says weakly.

“Berry,” she growls.

Santana cuts through them. “I’d listen to her. She’s pregnant and when pregnant people commit homicide, no one would ever throw them in jail. It’s unmoral.”

“Immoral,” Quinn corrects. Santana gives a  _“what the hell do I care”_  shrug and looks back at Rachel expectantly.

“Fine,” Rachel huffs. “Fine.”

For a reason she wants to ignore, it bothers Quinn that Rachel doesn’t want a ride home from  _her_.

\---

“I don’t bite,” she feels the need to point out.

Rachel gives a nervous laugh that doesn’t alleviate Quinn’s disappointment. “I know, it’s just, Finn-”

Quinn groans. “Finn  _what_?

“He said-you know what?” Rachel smiles and shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. Thank you,” she says diplomatically, “for the ride home.”

“What did he say,” she growls.

“That you were only being nice to me because you wanted something,” Rachel says in a rush, taking a deep breath at the end of her sentence.

Quinn deflates against the steering wheel. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” Quinn shakes her head. “He’s just trying to be a good friend.”

Rachel tenses next to her. “So you do want something from me?”

 _Forgiveness_  is the first thing that pops into Quinn’s mind, but she can’t get her mouth to work around the letters and she ends up shaking her head.

“No,” she lies. “I don’t.”

\---

Slowly, though, civil conversations turn into genuine discussions and she learns about the Rachel Berry beneath the horrible wardrobe and the show tunes.

She learns about Rachel’s irrational fear of birds, courtesy of Alfred Hitchcock, and how Rachel drives like an old woman, hunched over the steering wheel, moving ten miles an hour no matter the speed limit.

She learns how even though Rachel is Jewish, she doesn’t really practice, except for the major holidays, and even then, it’s for her Dad’s benefit.

She learns that Rachel has four different smiles: one for when she’s in awe; another for when she’s upset and trying to hide it; a third that’s hesitant and unsure; the fourth for when she’s caught up in a moment that no one else seems to get caught in.

It doesn’t take Quinn long to realize that she likes the fourth one the best.

\---

“Rachel,” she calls down the hall. The brunette stops and looks back.

It bothers Quinn that the smile on Rachel’s face is still timid, but she barrels through it and ends up at Rachel’s side, hooking their arms together.

“Santana is bringing some of us to the mall tomorrow and wanted to know if you were interested?”

Rachel’s eyes widen. “Santana?”

“Uh-huh. She was going to ask you herself, but I said I’d take care of it.”

“She doesn’t even like me.”

Quinn laughs and tugs back when Rachel tries to keep walking. “Sure she does,” she insists.

Rachel frowns. “She’s always giving me dirty looks.”

“That’s just how she is,” Quinn explains. “It’s her own personal form of love.”

Rachel doesn’t look convinced, but nods. “Sure, I guess.”

“Awesome,” Quinn says cheerfully. “We’ll swing by and grab you around eleven.”

\---

Santana grabs her by the elbow in the middle of American Eagle and pulls her behind the jeans. “Stop staring,” she demands, looking back over the rack and smiling brightly at Brittany. She turns back to Quinn and the smile is gone, replaced by bared teeth. “It’s pathetic.”

“What are you talking about?” Quinn asks defensively.

“You, staring at Berry,” Santana says slowly. “It’s making me nauseous.”

“I’m not staring.” Santana gives her a look that says  _“oh, come on.”_  Quinn sighs. “Casually gazing.”

“Well, either do something about it, or knock it off completely. It’s scaring people.”

Quinn wrings her hands nervously. “Like who?”

Santana whips back around and glares with her hands on her hips. “Me, for one.”

\---

She spends the rest of the day avoiding Rachel.

“Just feeling a little sick,” she says quietly when Rachel asks her what’s wrong.

Rachel doesn’t seem convinced.

\---

“What’s wrong with you?”

Quinn spins and wishes she hadn’t because the room spins with her. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re quiet,” Rachel says.

Quinn waits for a further explanation but gets nothing. “I’m quiet?”

Rachel nods. “You’re quiet and avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you.”

“Yes you are,” Rachel insists. “We didn’t even practice your solo this week.”

“That’s because you told me last week that it was marginally decent, remember?”

Rachel tilts her head to the left and gives Quinn a half-frown. “I said ‘marginally’ though. That doesn’t mean it’s perfect.”

Quinn snaps. “Nothing you ever do it either, so I don’t understand why you’re suddenly on my case about it. If you have a problem with my solo, tell Mr. Schuester. I’m sure he’ll give it to you and you’ll do a  _great_  job on it.”

“I don’t know what’s bothering you-”

“You!  _You’re_  bothering me,” Quinn hisses. “So, just, back off, okay?”

Rachel stares at her for a few moments, but Quinn turns back to her locker and tries to pretend that there isn’t a girl standing next her with small, almost imperceptible tears pooling in her eyes.

She lifts her hand to grab Rachel and pull her back and apologize, but by the time she manages to even turn in Rachel’s direction, she’s the only person in the hallway and the bell has already rung.

\---

It’s a last minute decision.

She’s standing at the end of the hall, stalking back and forth from the water fountain to the door of Ms. Pillsbury’s office and she keeps talking herself out of going down and telling Rachel that she’s sorry; that she only snapped because Santana keeps making comments and because Finn can’t get over himself and because this damn kid is pressing on her kidney’s, and no one likes a bladder problem.

On her twenty-seventh trip across the hall – because she can see Ms. Pillsbury mouthing the numbers, enunciating clearly – she sees Dave Karofsky and knows that nothing ever good comes of seeing him.

It takes a second to realize what he’s holding, but when she sees a dribble of cherry slushie slosh over the side of the Big Gulp cup and Rachel at the end of the hall smiling wildly at Brittany she  _knows_  what’s coming next.

Santana, standing at her locker by where Quinn has stopped in the dead center of the hallway, sees it at the same time and moves half a second before Quinn does.

It’s a footrace to the end of the hall and they’re both trying to keep any semblance of  _cool_  as they speed-walk, dodging oblivious freshmen and kids who are just in the way.

Brittany looks up at them barreling down the hall and waves. “Hey guys,” she calls.

Rachel, though, looks past them, at the slushie and the color in her face drains.

“Britt,” Santana hisses, grabbing the blond’s wrist and pulling her against the lockers, ignoring Brittany’s yelp of surprise.

Quinn lunges for Rachel.

“What-” Rachel says, her voice high and panicked. Quinn hears the footsteps, closer now, and looks down a little, into Rachel’s eyes and prepares herself.

She turns at precisely the right moment: Karofsky throws his hand forward and the icy beverage glides through the air in an arc of red, splashing, mostly, against her neck, staining the top of her shirt and catching the ends of her hair, dripping down from the underside of her jaw and sliding down over her collarbone.

There’s absolute silence in the hall.

Karofsky looks like he ate something sour, cheeks sucked in and eyes wide and he’s so focused on Quinn and the red dye painting her white shoes pink that he never sees Puck’s fist aimed at his jaw, and he doesn’t even notice Artie coming up and ramming him in the shins with the handbrake to his wheelchair.

The silence explodes and everyone is yelling. Karofsky is on the ground and Kurt is kicking him while Puck wrestles another of Karofsky’s buddies to the ground and Santana is making her own path out of the chaos, dragging Brittany behind her and Mr. Schuester is trying to untangle Artie’s chair from some kids pant leg and there’s a hand wrapped around Quinn’s wrist and another pushing at the small of her back until the bathroom door shuts behind them.

\---

She stares at her reflection in the mirror, trying not to laugh or cry.

“I look like a sad clown,” she finally says, but Rachel doesn’t laugh or look away or even blink. It’s not until Quinn reaches for the paper towels that Rachel moves, batting Quinn’s hand away and pulling at the rough brown towels, grabbing a handful.

“Rachel, I-”

“Shut up,” Rachel cuts in, wadding a towel in her hand and grabbing a section of Quinn’s hair, squeezing so that ice crystals dropped onto the paper towel. When she pulls her hand back, it’s red.

Rachel picks up another section of hair and Quinn can see that the dye has splashed up over her shoulders, curling around her neck – a whirl of pale skin and red 40 – and she can’t remember the last time she felt so useless and  _humiliated_.

“ _God_ ,” she sobs, wrapping her arms around her waist. Hot tears sting at her eyes and her whole body gets cold so she starts to shiver.

Rachel must have been expecting this because as soon as Quinn’s head drops a centimeter, she tosses the paper towel into the sink and let’s Quinn sway into her and down to the floor and there are arms wrapped tight around her shoulder rocking her side to side.

“ _Oh my God_ ,” Quinn says again, her words catching in her throat.

She feels ice against her forehead and registers that Rachel’s lips are pressed against her temple and Quinn isn’t sure what she’s doing, but she feels lost and helpless and when her neck bends back and cranes up and her mouth catches Rachel’s bottom lip, she’s mostly crying and it’s the worst kiss she’s ever given.

Her hands untangle themselves from her own body and grasp at Rachel’s shoulders, curving around the bone and digging into Rachel’s shirt, trying to move closer and lift her body a little higher so that she has the advantage, but Rachel pushes in; pushes Quinn down so that the brunette is towering over Quinn.

“No,” Rachel pants, pulling back and Quinn pushes forward, trying to catch Rachel’s lip in her own, but Rachel dodges to the left and Quinn misses. “No,” she repeats, running her hands through Quinn’s hair, dripping red onto both of their clothes.

“Yes,” is all Quinn can think to say, but she can’t lean in again because her eyes are filled with tears that refuse to fall so her vision is blurry and there are too many Rachel’s in front of her for her to pick one to kiss.

She’s lifted to her feet and stands there numbly while Rachel cleans away what she can and when Ms. Pillsbury comes into the bathroom and tells Quinn that she’s going to take her home, she hardly even realizes what’s going on.

\---

The moment she walks into the building, Puck is at her side, giving her a lopsided smile and shrugging when she gives him a questioning look. As he turns off when she gets to her locker, Santana takes his vacated place; Brittany on Quinn’s other side.

“What are you guys doing?” she asks when she can’t stand their unexplained hanging around anymore, because it feels like their crowding her.

Santana shrugs and continues to pick at her fingernails. “We’re only following orders.”

When Quinn looks to Brittany, the blond smiles and nods in agreement. “I’m only following Santana.”

\---

“I can see you,” she says accusingly, glaring over her shoulders at Mercedes and Tina tiptoeing around the corner. “Stop following me.”

“Hey,” Mercedes cuts in. “I’m just doing what I was told to do.”

Quinn bristles. “Whoever told you to do this,” she says lowly, having a good idea who ordered all these people to watch her every move, “tell her to knock it off.”

Tina shakes her head. “That’s something none of us want to get involved in.”

\---

Quinn finds Rachel is the bathroom.

“I’m not a China Doll. I’m not going to break.”

Rachel turns slowly with her back to the sinks. “You seemed like you were going to yesterday.”

“That was yesterday,” Quinn snaps, and then sighs. “Rachel, about yesterday-”

“It was a fluke,” Rachel cuts in.

“No it wasn’t,” Quinn says instantly, pushing off the wall she’s leaning against.

“You were upset.”

“No I wasn’t,” Quinn demands, then blushes. “Well, okay, I was upset, but the-”

Rachel waves her arms around wildly. “Don’t say it. If you say it, we can’t call it a fluke anymore and we need to address it, but we both know that’s not something either of us can do at this point in our lives.” She sighs and looks at Quinn, her eyes filled with pity. “I know what you were feeling, okay? The worthlessness and the need for stability. I’ve been there before and I know how it feels like you just need something, anything to hold onto. I understand, Quinn, and I’m glad that you didn’t have to do that alone, but you need to be realistic.”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time,” Quinn blurts out, almost wishing she could reach out, take the words back and swallow them.

“Quinn-”

“I didn’t know I wanted to kiss you, but I did,” she continues eagerly. “I still do.”

She doesn’t let Rachel speak because she doesn’t want to be talked out of this; not again. Her feet slide a little on the linoleum, but she’s grasping the sides of Rachel’s face and taking a deep breath and moving in, her mouth less than an inch from Rachel’s.

“I do,” she whispers again, and then it’s Rachel closing the gap, pressing almost chastely against Quinn’s mouth.

Quinn surges forward, her hands urgent against Rachel’s cheeks, but Rachel pushes just as hard and they move back across the bathroom floor, with Quinn’s back against the wall. Her head collides with brick and she hisses but Rachel takes the sting out of it, pressing a kiss to her cheekbone and then next to her ear.

“Its post-traumatic shock,” Rachel whispers into her ear.

Quinn laughs and wraps her arms around Rachel’s waist, feeling Rachel’s body sink into her own in all the places Finn’s never did. She’s taller than Rachel by an inch or two or three, so Rachel’s face is pressed against the column of her neck and if she tilts her head up just a fraction, she can rest her chin on Rachel’s forehead, so she kisses the top of Rachel’s head and closes her eyes.

“It wasn’t a warzone,” she says. “Well, at least, it wasn’t until Puck punched Karofsky.”

Rachel nods, her mouth bobbing down against Quinn’s collarbone quickly. “I think he was just waiting for a reason to punch him,” Rachel says with a small laugh.

“I heard he broke Karofsky’s nose,” Quinn offers. “So he’s not even in school today.”

She feels Rachel shrug in her arms. “I decided not to take any chances.”

“Hence the bodyguards.”

“Hence the bodyguards,” Rachel repeats.

\---

“Great,” Santana mutters, rolling her eyes and throwing her hands up into the air. “Now I have to deal with  _both_  of you staring.”

Quinn smiles brightly and Rachel is behind her, smiling back, holding out a cookie.

“I was going to get you a slushie,” she says sheepishly, ducking her head, “but cookies are better. Not health-wise, of course, although, now that I think about it, they probably are better than slushies, or taste-wise, because there’s something about slushies that just sucks you in. It’s like a magical ingredient and I’ve never been able to put my finger on it, but it’s there and-”

“Rachel,” she says gently.

“Shut up,” Santana growls at the same time. Brittany cuffs Santana’s shoulder lightly. “Please be quiet,” she corrects, gritting her teeth.

“Well, here,” Rachel says after a couple of awkward, silent seconds.

Quinn takes it and catches Rachel’s hand in the process. “How about you walk me to class? Give Santana and Brittany a break?”

Rachel doesn’t get a chance to answer because Santana is breaking through them, separating their hands. “ _Finally_ ,” she says in a sigh. “Come on, Britt. We still have enough time to make out before first period.”

“Fun,” Brittany says, smiling widely and waving as she follows Santana dutifully down the hall.

Quinn laughs and Rachel just stares, unsure if she’s allowed to laugh or not, but Quinn bumps her shoulder into Rachel’s and the brunette bites her bottom lip a little before her mouth splits in a wide smile.

 _The third smile_ , Quinn thinks, but then she looks again and decides its fourth smile after all.


End file.
